


Angels Don't Dance

by JekkieFan



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Is this angst???, M/M, Not Beta Read, Other, Sad Aziraphale (Good Omens), crowley is only mentioned, idk but aziraphale feels sad, it's not all sad tho so don't worry, so is Aziraphale, writer doesn't actually know how to gavotte but is trying her best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 10:53:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20704790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JekkieFan/pseuds/JekkieFan
Summary: It started not long after a certain squabble in St. James park over a particular type of water. The discussion left a lingering, heavy-sour feeling in Aziraphale’s stomach.In which an angel tries to flee from his problems by joining discreet gentleman's club in Portland Place... but which one?





	Angels Don't Dance

It had been well over two decades since Aziraphale last heard from Crowley. This was normally not an issue. They are immortal beings after all. For a celestial entity, such as Aziraphale, time goes by like an hour long shower, unexpectedly fast and altogether puzzling. However these past two decades have been anything but fast. They haven’t been slow either, just somewhat… empty.

It started not long after a certain squabble in St. James park over a _particular_ type of water. The discussion left a lingering, heavy-sour feeling in Aziraphale’s stomach.

Even during his reading he would find something that reminds him of his wily adversary, and be seized by the saddening heaviness. Some times he wondered how it would have been if he gave in. If he gave his dear friend the heavenly poison. But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t stand the thought of being alone. And yet, there he was, sitting in his bookshop without a word from the friendly serpent. Aziraphale often wondered where the demon was after he stormed off like that. Probably to find the holy water on his own. This sour thought made him close his book.

What was a lonely principality to do?

Aziraphale let his mind drift to anything else. Slowly his gaze swept over the chaotic organization of books that surrounded him. Hazel eyes landed on a collection of first addition Jane Austen novels. A lovely and thoughtful lady, though a bit of a gossip.

The angel was not the only one that spied the collection. Two men were flipping through the books with the look one has when intending on making a purchase. Aziraphale must have forgotten to flip the sign before reading. He promptly passed by the two men.

“My apologies, gentlemen,” he said changing the sign to close, “but the shop is closed for the evening.”

He turned to the Jane Austen men to find that they were only half paying attention.

For a moment Aziraphale was wondering if they would enjoy a spider crawling out of the held volume.

One of the men nudged the other, and mumbled something about being late. To what, the angel almost didn’t know. “We got to get to Portland Place,” the man continued. “The club will start it without us.”

The other man, who looked slightly older than the other, put the book back. “Sorry to keep you,” he said to the bookseller with a nod of his head. The bell rang as they headed out the door.

Aziraphale watched them walk down the street towards Portland Place. He once heard of a club there, but only that they played cards. The angel twiddled with his ring. That didn’t sound too bad actually. Just playing wist in good company. It would help him keep his mind off… things.

Definitely much more appealing.

The next day the angel took a stroll over the Portland Place with a deck of cards in his hands. He fiddled with the leafs, and attempted to shuffle them. Once a card jumped out of his hand and fluttered onto the ground. Aziraphale put the deck back into his pocket and continued on his way.

He stopped at a corner in Portland Place, and scanned the area. It was a mild, Tuesday afternoon with people calmly walking about, the occasional clomping clatter of a carriage, and one rather confused pigeon sitting on the sign of a tobacco shop. Aziraphale shifted his weight, eyes flicking to the different store fronts. In truth Aziraphale had no idea where the club was. One could say that the street was completely foreign to him, if it wasn’t for two familiar faces.

It was the Jane Austen men. They laughed as they ambled down the walkway. A moment later the two disappeared into one of the buildings. Any doubt that he was in the wrong place left Aziraphale as he followed them.

Much to his surprise, Aziraphale found it quiet easy to get in. He simply smiled at the man guarding the door, who was sporting a very polished pocket watch, and said, “Good afternoon. I heard that there is a certain gentleman’s club here, and I am very interested in joining.”

The man eyed the pastel principality’s form, and came to the same conclusion that many get upon their first impression of Aziraphale. He nodded, “There is. But there’s a fee.”

“Not an issue at all.” Aziraphale promptly (and miraculously) paid the guard, and was let in. _So much for exclusive_, he thought.

He happily wandered into the main room, and was about to pull out his cards when he became confused again. The room had only a few small tables that where practically stuffed into a corner. The only thing filling the rest of the room was the soft music coming from a trio composed of a flute, a piano, and (oddly enough) an oboe.

Was this not the Portland Place club? Aziraphale sat at a lone table, feeling about as comfortable as an introvertnext to a chatty-Kathy on a train. Men of various ages with various faces came in the room and began merrily conversing. The angel felt their love-filled auras color the decorated room. Aziraphale silently watched as they greeted each other with embraces or quick kisses. _How nice,_ he thought _I haven’t __seen humans greet this warmly since Rome_. The angel reminisced about Rome for a second before it hit him. _Oh… _He gave a delighted, and knowing smile. _How nice that they found a place._ Despite finding himself in the wrong club, Aziraphale decided to stay. Maybe he’d make a friend.

From his spot he glanced at the various paintings that covered the walls. By the door he observed a painting of a man tickling a sleeping young woman with a blade of grass. Next to her was a basket of softly painted flowers. For a brief moment Aziraphale thought about asking Crowley’s advice on flora decorations for the shop, but was stopped short by growing guilt. Aziraphale looked at the cards in his hand. There were two cards, a two of hearts and a seven of spades. He sighed and shuffled them back into the deck.

He felt a tap on his shoulder.

Aziraphale turned to find a smiling gentleman behind him.

“Good afternoon…?”

“A. Z. Fell,” Aziraphale finished while quickly rising to his feet.

“Mr. Fell. I’m Algernon Wright,” he held out his hand. The young man was plainly dressed, but had an impressive beard starting up.

Aziraphale shook his hand warmly, and smiled back.

“I see that you’re new here.”

The angel nodded, still caught off guard by the sudden conversation. “Why yes,” a light bashful blush dusted his face, “first day.”

“Well,” started Algernon, “why don’t you join the dance? The gavotte. It’s going to start soon.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to protest, but shut it once the music grew livelier. Honestly Aziraphale didn’t have much of a response. Or at least, one that made sense. How could one say _Oh, I’m sorry Mr. __Wright__, but angels don’t dance. It’s one of our defining characteristic__s_ without looking foolish.

“Come now,” Algernon said in a coaxing, and kind tone. “It’s rather easy once you get used to it. You will learn in no time. I’ll teach you.”

Aziraphale nervously squeezed his hands. “Oh, no, thank you,” he stuttered timidly.

“Nonsense!” the man laughed. “Just give it a go. You might enjoy it.” The man was practically begging. Or begging as much is socially acceptable for new acquaintances.

As uncomfortable as he felt, Aziraphale knew it would be rude to decline. Besides, once they would see just how terrible angels are at dancing, they’ll surely let him play cards at the tables.

Right?

These gentleman where truly the most patient men in all of Europe. Aziraphale didn’t so much as dance as awkwardly as waddle like a duck on ice. A few men, including Algernon, took Aziraphale aside to teach him step-by-step, so as to not slow down the rest of the gentlemen. The first step, the introduction, went along fine. Every step afterwards was… troublesome.

The timing on his hops were off, and less enthusiastic than usually required. His footwork looked less like elegant skipping, and more like he had sand in his shoes. But Aziraphale was trying his best, despite not have a single clue what any of the French named dance moves meant.

“It’s like ballet,” a very young man explained, as if it was as simple as riding a bike. “Just more relaxed.”

Aziraphale shook his head to say that he didn’t know ballet either, but it went unnoticed. Even though he has no need for air, he took a deep breath, and continued.

“Well,” Algernon suggested, “hold your feet like this, it’s called third position.” He then casually demonstrated.

Aziraphale mirrored his dance partner to the best of his ability.

“Good,” Algernon stated. “Now just take a step forward like this.” He walked forward, keeping the position.

Already his steps were improving. And he, dare he say, was having fun, much more than he expected. After some time Aziraphale could do the basic moves a-little less-than-fine, but good enough. Moving around the room, and changing partners though? Well, that would have to wait for another day. And yes, he definitely planed on coming back the next day.

When the music stopped, the room was filled with clattering applause, and roars of laughter from the main dancers. They all dispersed around the room to take a rest from all the dancing. The angel smiled at his small group of new comrades. He left lighter, like he accomplished something grandiose. And, much to his delight, he did get to play a round of wist before he realized how late in the evening it was.

Aziraphale hung up his coat once he got back to the shop. It was empty, as had been the recent usual. There was still a two decade long ache in his chest. But it was softer now. He was sure it would always be there until he had the courage to talk to Crowley again. It would be absurd to think he could gavotte the guilt away. But now it would be a bit more bearable of a pain.

**Author's Note:**

> Finally got around to writing a fic for my recent obsession. It may or may not be taking over my life, but honestly I wouldn't want it any other way. I really like the Victorian era and dancing (though my Victorian knowledge is rusty, and I'm not that best at dancing). So I guess it was inevitable that I'd write a gavotte fic.  
BUT!!! If you enjoyed this leave a kudos or a comment. Or not. I don't control you. (but for real, thanks for reading!)


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